What do you want?
by Kawaii Snowdrop
Summary: It's a simple question, one that takes his whole life to figure out.


_A/N: Well, I know this is an extremely unpopular ship but here I am anyway. Nothing against other pairings, but I hope you'll give this story a chance even if it's not your cup of tea :)_

(1)

"Andrew, what is it that you want?"

Straight back. Tailored clothes too tight. He shrinks under his father's gaze - feeling small. He's six, already shouldering burdens; learning how to fake a smile to twist people around his finger. Old enough, they tell him, to accept responsibilities. Old enough to know exactly what being the son of an Earl really entails.

"Answer me, boy."

"To make you proud," he says, albeit a little nervously. He peers up, fidgeting hands carefully concealed behind him. This man is like a stranger despite the familiar term he addresses him with - and he does not know how to act in order to appease.

Thankfully, the man grimaces in the form of a smile and roughly musses his hair. Andrew breathes a small sigh of relief.

He shoves his conscience whispering _liar_ to the furthest corners of his mind.

(2)

They're falling out again. Childish arguments about magic and its use in modern society. He stubbornly takes his takes his father's view while she obstinately refuses to listen to him. Diana stomps out of the playroom; in time she will curb her emotions in favour for an icy presence, but for now he is left to follow after her.

"What do you want?" She asks grumpily when he finds her in a corner of the summer house. He knows her mother died recently, but even that does help much in swallowing the sharp retort he has ready to fire. He bites his tongue hard while she whips her head away from him at the first falling droplets. Eventually, both calm down enough to return to their polite distance previously upheld. They refuse to call each other friends.

Her question burns like a brand on his tongue.

(3)

He's learning fast, fake smiles traded for feigned disinterest. The servants don't stop to talk anymore, and he ceases bothering to greet and learn their names. He wears borrowed pride as a mask, and practices piano in secret till his fingers ache. His father stares disapprovingly at his pale skin and dark shadows and orders more rest. He agrees, only to sneak out again that night.

When he is older, he can focus on his future career and inheritance. For now, he will settle for allowing music to flow from his fingertips.

It can't last, but it's enough for now.

(4)

Akko is tangible trouble and bad manners rolled up into one, overly enthusiastic human being. She has no sense of etiquette, no sense of personal space, no sense of what is appropriate for certain situations. She's clumsy and impatient and loud; everything he's been taught to despise. To top it all off she's a witch, and a bad one at that.

Yet, against what is perhaps the trait his farther would call his better judgment, she excites him.

The way her eyes gleam whenever she talks about her dream. She _knows_ what she wants and has overflowing determination and drive to achieve it. In some ways, Andrew - with all his finery and wealth - is jealous of how much she has.

Of course, their opposing views clash violently, and he allows his indifferent façade to slip off in favour of retaliating to her initially infuriating presence. Her frequent mishaps with magic both amuse and exasperate him. In the short term their surprising friendship seems doomed to fail - he is too prideful, too haughty. She is too immature.

However, in long run, Andrew slowly notices changes within himself. He begins to form his own opinions instead of adopting other's. He opens his mind more, particularly on the subject of magic. He warms his presence around others - something noticed and immediately used to tease by his school friends. He finds these changes to be less horrific than expected, perhaps even welcome; the servants certainly seem surprised.

They're an unlikely pair, but they fit remarkably together. Atsuko Kagari desperately needs a voice of reason to counteract her rash personality, and Andrew finds his strict upbringing to remain calm - even at the expense of cold indifference - at all times can cool her passion on even her most hot-headed days.

He himself craves a release from the stifling pressure he's subject to daily, and she inspires a rebellious side of him he didn't even realise he possessed. Akko lends him the courage to reveal to the world his forbidden musical talents, and even the sharp glare of his father cannot dim the relief burning inside. Even though it scares him, he can't help but want more.

A dangerous thought for the son of a prestigious Earl.

(5)

"I bet none of that is what you actually want to do at all!" She cuts off his well-practiced speech of family reputation and honour, indignation losing impact slightly since she is currently stuck in the transformation of a mouse. This amuses him underneath the resigned anger that she is breaking rules again. At his own school in fact - how'd she even get here?

He debates with her using the same projectiles thrown countless times at him throughout his childhood. The pessimism hangs weakly in the air as Akko stubbornly repeats her values and disappears off to find the Holy Grail. Before he had finished his sentence, like all his words were empty air and unworthy of forming a cohesive argument.

He sits there, staring at the floating clouds in contemplation for a long time, before remembering just how often trouble seems to find Akko and subsequently gives hastened pursuit.

(6)

"To be free," he admits, just once. The sunset bathes them in a golden hue that makes him reckless with his words. He hands his strict lessons, his caution to the breeze which ruffles their hair. There's no one around to hear the conversation anyway.

"Free?" Akko asks, clearly confused even as she stares up at the sky; which makes him smile. She has just graduated from the Academy, still unsure of where her life will take her, but willing to grasp it with both hands anyway.

"Free from responsibilities, expectations and judgement," he says, offering an explanation along with his heart. The normally obstreperous girl is quiet, contemplative. A seagull sweeps and ducks beneath a cloud. Fingers slip in between his own, gripping his hand in a warm, strong grip.

"Freedom is what you make of it," she says at length, face angled towards the light.

He squeezes back, a sudden lump in his throat, "yeah."

(7)

She becomes his own form of rebellion, his escape from the rigid lifestyle he was born into. Of course, his career and future were decided and set in stone right from the start, so the little control he exercises he holds close to his heart. With this in mind, he smiles at his father's cold indignation and chooses _her_ over all the other batted eyelashes and extravagant last names.

It's controversial, their relationship. The lack of any title Akko owns is painfully obvious in the hostile stares and vicious rumours that follow the pair wherever they go. Questions about her suitability, her ability to bear a sufficient heir, her background in magic. To her credit, Akko discards these petty jabs with the same indifference she does with all obstacles in her path. In private, he asks if she minds, anxious if their companionship - although tolerated as friendship is despised as romance - is causing more harm than good to her.

 _What do you want?_

She responds with the same genuine yet endearing bafflement to the question that catches him off guard time and time again.

"Of course not," she laughs, voice stirring his soul, "I'm used to this."

And while something inside him breaks at the sentence, he can't help but smile at her enviable ability to remain unfazed. In the end, Akko remains unapologetically herself, and the conversation is never returned to.

(8)

Dim lighting. Entwined shapes and merging souls. Eyes bright as a strand of hair falls across her bare shoulder.

"What do you want?" She breathes, voice quiet in the dark room. The answer tingles on his lips.

"You, Akko," they meet again.

 _You._


End file.
